


Apparently Not

by Musvit



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Memory Related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 14:59:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14547258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musvit/pseuds/Musvit
Summary: Bellamy Blake loses himself in thoughts of the past.





	Apparently Not

Blue used to be Bellamy’s favorite color. Not the navy that reminded him of oceans at night, troubled waters or eerie lakes. Not the Oxford blue of starry nights, or the blue of handsewn suits. Not the yale blue of businessmen hard at work. Not the kind of blue that reminded him of restless nights or jagged malachite.

But rather the blue that’s icy cold. The kind that freezes you to your bones, but melts your heart. The celeste blue of slow warm rivers. The baby blue of bubbling laughter, sweet-smelling cornflowers, and freshwater swims. Electric blue of bright summer skies. All the blues that, blended together, reminded him of all of his favorite moments. The color that, blended together, was the color of will-power, strength, and integrity. The color of fierceness, bravery and unconditional love. 

The color of Clarke’s eyes. 

Not anymore though. The memory of the girl too painful.

He closed his eyes, letting a single tear drift down his cheek, down his chin and onto the metal ledge of the window sill. His dark eyes glanced back into the room behind him. It was empty, void of noise and disturbances. But the atmosphere itself was pressing down on him. Keeping him seated as he carried the weight of the world in his chest. Bellamy opened his mouth to draw in a shaky breath, feeling his lungs jumping at the sudden expansion. The taste of cold metal and recycled air settled on his tongue and he felt the need to cough it out.

The memory of meat rushed through his mind. Saltiness and the occasional sweetness. And he remembered enjoying the heat of the fire, glancing around at his people. Most of them laughing, mouths open exposing the meat. Silently watching Clarke, through the smoke that built up around them, as she smiled to herself. Watching her eyes flitter over everyone, making sure they were all okay, before finally taking a bite for herself. He remembered the way he could see her sigh in content. The way she would let her shoulders relax, and slowly throw her head back with closed eyes. 

In those moments, fading as they were, she was the image of peace. 

Bellamy would give his life to see her in one of those moments again. To watch her lose herself in the magic of the earth. Her hair blowing into her face with the breeze, and the way her fingers grazed the side of her head to pull it behind her ear again. Distinctly, he remembered his fingers twitching. Almost aching to reach out and do it for her. And the way he resisted by curling his hand into a fist and pressing it almost painfully into the log beneath him. 

With a huff he let out the breath again, standing up abruptly. The peace around him shattered. His legs shook alarmingly under him as he tried to stand freely. He couldn’t. Turning around and facing the wall again, he leaned his forehead against it. The coolness of the metal pulled him back into reality. His fist collided with the space beside his head, and he sobbed at the hollow sound. For a moment he just stood there. Hand and head connected to the wall. Stuck in his own mind he turned around slowly, and felt his shirt ride up his back as he sank against the wall to the floor. 

His legs bent up under him, and he pressed his knees to the sides of his head. Desperately trying to suppress the sudden nausea. The tears came in a steady stream, landing on the cold floor in an almost comforting rhythm. His ragged sobs echoed through the quiet space, and he found himself needing someone to be there. Anyone really. He could never have her there again. 

The last time he touched her he had tucked a piece of blonde hair behind her ear. They had talked about oxymorons. Out of everything in the world, their last conversation would be about something so meaningless. Bellamy closed his eyes and let himself remember the somber look on her face. She had known, but he hadn’t wanted to accept it. 

Even with the withering look passing through her eyes, she had somehow still managed to look pure. Which was ironic. He knew Clarke, had seen what she had done. She was far from pure, but it only made her that much more endearing. His fingertips started tingling, coming alive with the memory of touching her skin. Evening out his breathing he replayed the memory again and again. The feeling of smooth hair sliding over the roughness of his skin. The heat of her against his cold fingers. The electricity from merely touching her. 

It felt real. In that moment he was back in Becca’s bunker. The tips of his fingers lingering over her temple, feeling the steady pulse beneath the thin skin. Even the small amount of sweat that had come off of her couldn’t push him away. She was there, within arms reach, breathing, watching him with deep pools of unspoken emotions in her eyes, silent promises that she couldn’t bring herself to say out loud. 

Alive.

He could have done one of two things then. 

He could’ve taken a step closer. Wrapped his arms around her, and drawn her into him. He could’ve buried his face in her neck. Held her close, memorizing her because they never knew what was to come. She would’ve pressed herself into his shoulder, and the weight would have reminded him that she was real. Not some cruel figment of his own imagination. He could’ve settled his hand around her braid, for some reason wanting to hold onto every piece of her. 

Or he could have searched her eyes for uncertainty. For some kind of tell that she was uncomfortable with the silence or the proximity. Perhaps she would’ve taken a step back. But maybe, just maybe, she could’ve taken a step forward. Maybe she would even close her eyes, allowing her breath to fan out over his lips, drawing him closer. Bellamy prided himself in doing whatever felt right; in that moment he would without a doubt have cupped her jaw with his hand. Rubbing the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone. He could almost imagine the feeling of her pressing herself into his hand, eyes fluttering open for a short moment before shutting again. And he could have kissed her. Right there, at the end of the world. 

It wouldn’t have felt like the end. He was sure it would have felt like a beginning. Perhaps it would be like opening a book that you fell in love with just from the description. Maybe it would’ve been like tasting your favorite meal for the first time, or feeling the sun on your skin. 

Maybe it wouldn’t have been like a beginning or something new at all. Maybe it was the feeling of finally finishing a puzzle. Or the soaring happiness of figuring out the missing link in a mystery. 

But he hadn’t. He hadn’t interrupted the silence, and Clarke being Clarke, had told him goodbye instead. 

Bellamy almost wanted to laugh at the memory. It came out as a scoff instead. Slowly he lifted his head, and carefully let it rest on the wall. Running a hand through his hair, he let it drift over his face on the way down. The tears had dried. He was left feeling oddly numb. A sensation as strange to him as the thought of earth without Clarke. His chest heaved as he let out a sigh. He could almost hear Clarke’s voice chastising him for sitting around sulking over her.

Almost.

He tried, he really did. But he could only remember snippets of her voice. He could remember her saying: “For my people.” Or: “I never meant to hurt you.” But he couldn’t remember the way her lips formed as she smiled. Or the way she told him: “May we meet again.” He remembered the way that her voice broke, but not the sound of it. The tearing in his heart was still clear as day, but not her tone that caused it. He remembered her short but heavy puff of air that she let out when someone said something funny. But he couldn’t remember the sound of her laugh. Not the sound that sent jitters through his stomach, or made his breath catch in his throat. The one sound on the planet, in the universe, that both calmed and excited him at the same time.

And no matter how long he laid awake at night, trying to remember; he couldn’t remember the sound of her saying his name. If he closed his eyes he could see her lips forming softly around it, saying it with a grace he never thought possible. But he couldn’t hear it. 

With a clang, he slammed his head back against the wall. White hot pain shot through the back of his head spreading to his temples. Instead of reaching up and placing a hand there for comfort, he welcomed the pain. Willing it to distract him. 

“Bellamy?” Raven’s voice broke the tension around him, and his shoulders slumped allowing him to calm down. 

“In here.” Bellamy’s voice was so quiet that he doubted she even heard him, but loud footsteps proved him wrong. He peeled his eyes open, quickly spotting her in the doorway. As she laid her eyes on him, her face fell. Pity. Brown eyes captured his, and his gaze quickly flickered away. She didn’t need to see what was going on in his mind.  
“Do you wanna talk about it?” She sounded sincere, worried. He hated it. 

“I don’t know.” He watched her feet drag across the floor as she crossed the room. She came to a stop beside him, before taking a step to the side and sitting down; thankfully leaving space enough for another person between them. 

“I miss her too.” A lump formed in his throat. It had always been strikingly clear that he wasn’t the only one who missed her. Even Murphy had quieted down whenever Clarke came up in conversation. Raven wrapped her arms around her knees, mirroring Bellamy’s position. 

The silence swallowed them up. Both of them either watching the floor or the dark, empty room in front of them. Only heavy breathing and the occasional click of metal breaking the silence. It was a loaded silence, in some way it was filled with memories, good and bad. In others, it was full of understanding and support. But not enough. It was never gonna be enough.

Bellamy knew Raven hadn’t necessarily been the fondest of Clarke in the beginning. But even she had grown attached to the crazy blonde. Glancing over at the brunette he saw the shine of tears on her cheeks. He wanted to reach out to her, to comfort her, but he was in no place to do that. He felt the same way. If not worse.

“She was it for me.” His voice was clouded with regret, and he rolled his eyes up. Staring at the ceiling. Counting the bolts. Anything to prevent the tears from falling again. Ravens jacket ruffled as she turned her head towards him. He could feel her studying him. She didn’t say anything, just nodded, digging her chin into her upper arm. Her eyes shut, and even more, tears escaped her. “I should have told her.” He fumbled with a loose thread on his sleeve, careful not to pull it too hard. 

“She knew.” Even Raven’s voice was an octave lower, more careful than her useful preppiness. “If she didn’t, she wasn’t as smart as I thought.” Bellamy shook his head slowly, desperately clinging to the hope that she did. “She loved you too.” 

He let out a small laugh. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew. But it was almost impossible to believe.  
Clarke, the one person who sacrificed everything for her people.  
Clarke, the girl with fire for a soul, and ice in her eyes.  
Clarke, a mere mortal who could measure up to whatever god you believed in. She couldn’t have been in love with him. He didn’t deserve that. 

But maybe no one ever really deserved to be loved. Perhaps two imperfect people could choose to love each other, despite whatever the world felt it owed them.

Raven scooted closer to him, carefully resting her head on his shoulder. Both of them breathing deeply into the darkness. Sharing the knowledge that they would never really get over the loss of Clarke. 

“You two were destined for each other.” Her voice was softer than it had ever been before. Almost as if she was scared of breaking something. But even with the quiet surrounding them, and the careful hesitation in her voice, the sound broke his heart. 

“Apparently not.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry..
> 
> Come talk to me on Tumblr: Bellarke-Rebel


End file.
